


How long til' we call this love?

by DarkestTomorrow



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: 8th year Watford, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Pre: Book 2, Simon suspects Baz is gay, alongside the vampirism ofc, although they're both too stupid to understand it, american exchange students, and says dude and buddy, and wants to prove it, angst because this is who i am, anyway Simon is Realising Things, drunkenness as a plot device, for totally non-personal reasons, he's a busy boy ok, i don't know how to American, in case you thought we had left that teen trope behind in the 2000s, new American character, some remarkably dumb decisions, sorry that Noah grins so much, spin the bottle / truth or dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestTomorrow/pseuds/DarkestTomorrow
Summary: Simon suspects that Baz is gay (and a vampire) and he's on a solo mission to prove both of these things. Tools of dubious morality are employed along the way.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 178





	How long til' we call this love?

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: Sorry that I have romantic feelings for hyphens.  
> Also, the title is from 'Distance' by Christina Perri - a Snowbaz song if I ever knew one.  
> If you like it, please let me know and I will try not to combust with joy!

He’s had too much to drink. He’s leaning against the drinks table, swirling the beer inside his cup idly and wondering where Penny’s wandered off to, when he sees Noah making his way over to him. He hasn’t seen Noah since the round of spin-the-bottle they all played earlier. Simon winces as he recalls the question he’d blurted to Baz. He’d had his suspicions for a while, and he had tried for weeks to try and get confirmation subtly. By watching Baz even more doggedly than usual, trying to catch him at it somehow. How do you catch someone at it? Ridiculous, he was ridiculous. He didn’t know why he needed to know so badly. He’d lived with the bastard for seven years and knew practically everything else about him – didn’t he deserve to know this too? Didn’t he deserve to know this part of Baz, of his sworn enemy? Maybe he could use it to his advantage somehow when it all came to a head. The war. Send a pack of handsome goblin bastards after him to lay the final blow. Or something.

But no, that was Simon’s right. It was their destiny. Simon would be the one to finally, finally bring Baz Pitch to his knees. When it all came to a head.

Simon had tried even stupider, more embarrassing, tactics to try and figure it out. He flushed to think about it, but he had wanted to see if maybe Baz would react to him that way and give himself away. He’d taken to traipsing about their room shirtless. When they were seated next to each other in class, Simon would _accidentally_ brush his arm, his leg against Baz. Shift and press the length of his thigh to Baz’s for a half second. To see if he’d react in any way. Baz did nothing except purse his lips in distaste and stare stonily ahead. Simon had started ‘forgetting’ to take his clothes in when he showered, having to come out in a towel wrapped around his waist so he could root through his wardrobe for clothes. Baz hadn’t reacted in any way to show that he was affected by any of this. The first few times he had just sneered and made nasty remarks about how he knew that Simon was poor, but surely even he had a pair of hideous trackies, or the school uniform, to wear. After that, every time Simon came out of the shower, clad in his towel, Baz was never in the room. Off in the catacombs plotting, no doubt.

Once, Simon had been sitting behind Baz in class, staring at his ridiculous, posh shoulders and getting himself worked up about it all. Why hadn’t Baz told him? Simon was convinced of two things that Baz was, and Baz wouldn’t own up to either, and Simon hated him for it. Before he’d really formed a plan in his mind, he was tapping Baz on the back, leaning forward over his desk. Baz turned his head disdainfully and intoned, “ _What, Snow”._ Simon stuttered, unprepared, “Do you, uh, do you have a spare quill? Mine, uh, snapped.” Except he was mumbling and going red, and Baz couldn’t hear him. “Enunciate clearly, you dunce”, he snapped. Simon scowled and surged forward, meaning to whisper closer to Baz’s ear, or maybe punch him, he was undecided. But he had misjudged the distance and knocked into the side of Baz’s face, his mouth brushing Baz’s (ridiculously soft) earlobe. Baz had flinched violently as if burned and abruptly turned away from Simon. Simon had shrunk back into his seat, embarrassed, the tips of his ears burning. He couldn’t even ask for a bloody quill – let alone experimentally seduce a vampire. He was the least attractive thing to ever exist and Baz probably wouldn’t let him touch him even if he did swing that way. Not that Simon wanted to. Touch Baz, that is. He just wanted to _know_ ; he should have all the facts about his nemesis. It was sound war strategy, nothing else.

But then the exchange students had arrived from America. Noah had arrived, and brought with him all the confirmation Simon needed. The way Baz’s eyes burned holes into Noah, the way Simon could always feel, without even looking, the weight of Baz’s gaze whenever Noah was speaking to Simon. Simon supposed Noah was handsome – if you were into the strong, tanned sort of boys with curly hair. That wasn’t Simon’s personal preference, of course. Agatha looked nothing like Noah. It irked some part of him though – that Noah had proved so easily what Simon had been trying so hard, and so stupidly, to prove. That Noah just had to exist and Baz couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Noah was open and casual about his sexuality. Simon admired how comfortable he was in his own skin, there were no affectations to Noah. Noah laughed easily and said whatever he wanted. Everything came easily to him. Maybe that was what drew Baz to him.

Then they’d all sat down to play that bloody game. Everyone was a little bit tipsy (except Baz, the miserable sod), and when Trixie had spun the bottle and it had landed on Niall, Niall had chosen a dare. Trixie had smiled gleefully and had dared Niall to kiss Noah. Niall’s eyebrows shot up and Simon had thought he would refuse, tap out. But Niall had simply turned to Noah with a questioning glance, as if to ask permission. Noah had just grinned at him and then shrugged – and then everyone’s jaws were dropping open, and someone was hooting, as Noah and Niall rose to their knees and leaned across to share a chaste kiss. It was over in a second, but Simon felt like the wind had been knocked out of him a little. His mouth was still hanging open in a soft ‘ _oh’_ and he was staring at Noah, burning with envy at how _easy_ it seemed, to be Noah Holden.

He thought of Baz suddenly and how this must have made him feel. Betrayed by his best friend kissing his crush, even as a dare? Crowley knows Simon would’ve been livid if, for example, Agatha had ever kissed Baz back when they’d been dating, even as a dare. He tore his eyes away from Noah and turned to look at Baz – and found Baz already watching him. Simon flushed. A muscle was working in Baz’s jaw, but he looked as ruthless and striking as ever. Was he pissed at Simon? Was he marking Simon as competition, as an obstacle to attaining Noah? Plotting how to remove Simon from the path? Maybe Baz had misinterpreted Simon’s staring at Noah as desire, rather than what it really was - pure, green envy.

Still, it was almost as good as a confession from Baz. Almost. Simon scowled and he kept thinking angry thoughts at Baz even as the next spin landed on Penny and Penny was dared to kiss Micah, one of the other American exchange students. Penny blushed and Micah blushed as they reached across shyly to kiss. Agatha spun the bottle and Simon was relieved she wasn’t dared to kiss anyone. When it was his turn to spin the bottle, Simon spun it a bit too aggressively. It landed on Baz, and Simon felt a fierce vindication course through him. He had him now. He knew what Baz would pick before he did, and smiled in smug satisfaction when Baz simply arched an eyebrow coldly and said, “Truth”.

“Ooh,” Noah had sung teasingly, and Simon’s gaze swung to him. Noah winked at him. “Use it well, buddy.” Simon felt, inexplicably, heat crawling up his face, and when he turned his attention back to Baz, he found him also looking at Noah. His cool, grey eyes fixed on Noah’s face, because it was apparently that easy, that simple, to fancy Noah. Simon scowled viciously, and then before he could phrase it better, or think of a better question (like, “are you a dark, blood-sucking creature, Baz?”), he was looking squarely at Baz, his teeth gritted as he blurted, “Do you fancy Noah?”

A hush fell over the group suddenly, and someone giggled nervously, and Penny reached out to touch Simon’s hand. “Si,” she said warningly. And Simon realised suddenly what a terrible idiot he was, what a horrible thing to ask. He looked immediately at Noah, afraid he’d overstepped, insulted him, but Noah looked unbothered. He was watching Baz, as if waiting patiently for his answer. Simon turned his gaze to Baz and Baz was looking like he'd tasted something sour, like he’d like to punch Simon very much.

Baz brushed imaginary lint off his ridiculously posh trousers and made as if to stand up. “I don’t think,” he sneered coolly, “that I’m the one that fancies Holden.” He was on his feet and he gazed down at Simon witheringly, like he despised him. “Anyway, I’ll leave you imbeciles to it,” he said and then he was walking away, and Simon felt a heavy, inexplicable wretchedness settle in his stomach.

Trixie was the first to break the awkward silence. “I mean, he’s not wrong. Pretty sure half of Watford fancies you, Noah. Myself and Keris excluded, no offence.” She nodded at him and Noah grinned bashfully. “None taken,” Noah smiled and his gaze flickered over to Simon.

“To Noah!” Keris giggled and raised her cup, beer sloshing wildly.

“To Noah!” a few of the others, including Agatha and Micah, drunkenly cheered.

***

Now, walking up to him, Noah catches his eye and waves, a smile on his face. Simon offers a hesitant wave in response.

“You alright?” Noah grins as he moves in to stand next to him.

“Yeah, good, mate. Good good good. You good?” Simon isn’t the most coherent at the best of times, and he’s knocked back a few more since the game so he knows he’s hopelessly sloshed.

Noah laughs, and it’s a nice laugh, has a warm, rough timber to it. But it reminds Simon of how much Noah keeps laughing around Baz, at Baz’s snide remarks to Simon, and he frowns.

“You’re wasted, dude.” Noah nudges him with his shoulder, grinning.

“I am,” Simon smiles apologetically. “Penny’ll be mad.”

Noah smiles and reaches across to pour himself a drink. Simon catches his wrist suddenly – he needs to address this before either of them gets any drunker. Noah looks down at Simon’s hand around his wrist and raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“Sorry”, Simon laughs nervously and drops his hand. “Just – listen, mate, I want to – I want to apologise … for earlier.”

“Simon, it’s fine—”

“No, no, that was a shit thing to do. I’m sorry. I know you’re, you know, just super cool about it – about everything—”

“I’m super cool?” Noah grins.

Simon flushes. “No. I mean, yeah – _obviously_ – but I mean, I’m sorry, yeah? That was a shitty, weird thing to ask Baz, to pull you in like that.”

“Hmm,” Noah leans back and looks at him, his long legs stretched out before him. “So why did you?”

“Why did I … ?” Simon splutters.

Noah nods. “Yeah. Why’d you ask Baz if he _fancied_ me?” He smiles around the word _fancied,_ sounding impossibly American.

“Oh,” Simon reaches a hand to tug at his neck. “I, uh, it’s, uh, complicated. Baz is – Baz is weird, he’s always plotting something, you know?”

Noah nods like that makes sense but Simon knows he’s only being nice and that he sounds unhinged.

“Just,” he presses on earnestly. “Baz is _always_ up to something, always. Like with Agatha, he was always just trying to get with her and I just—".

“Agatha – your girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Simon mumbles.

“Ah,” Noah smiles. There’s a slight pause before he asks, carefully, “Was that because of Baz, then?”

Simon knits his eyebrows in confusion slightly, before realising that Noah is asking if Baz is the reason Agatha broke up with him. “Yeah,” he mutters darkly, his mind replaying memories of Baz and Agatha holding hands in the Wavering Wood that night. Of Agatha carrying around Baz’s handkerchief, of Baz always making eyes at Agatha. Of Baz’s savage smile tugging up his face every time he pulled Agatha away from Simon. “Yeah, it’s because of him.”

Noah hums. “Well, alright. Understood.”

Simon snaps his head up to stare at him incredulously. “Alright?”

“Sure,” Noah shrugs. “We can still have a drink, can’t we?”

“No hard feelings?” Simon laughs awkwardly, grateful for Noah’s easy forgiveness.

“No hard feelings.” Noah smiles and Simon can see why Baz fancies him. (If one were to fancy boys.) It’s a lovely smile, like the way bright sunshine sometimes, unexpectedly, spills over into Manchester skies, after an especially soggy week. Noah is actually an alright bloke.

They lean back against the table then, both of them drinking from their cups, their feet tapping in tune to the music.

“For the record,” Noah looks at him. “I don’t think Baz has feelings for _me_.”

Simon frowns. Trust Baz to be such a massive arse that the bloke he fancies can’t even tell. He doesn’t care, particularly, if Noah never believes that Baz fancies him. But he can’t deny that it would be a bloody good way to get confirmation that Baz likes blokes. If Baz and Noah were to get together – that would, that would be enough proof, wouldn’t it?

* * *

Simon is impossibly drunk when he spots Baz, standing by himself in the corner, lurking like the hopelessly creepy bastard he is. He’d seen him earlier too, when Simon had been speaking to Noah – Baz’s gaze on them, heavy, possessive. Bloody Noah.

Penny has snuck off with Micah. The two of them had gotten into a heated debate about something ridiculous, something about whether British or American literature had contributed more towards modern spell collections. Simon is positive she said they were headed to the library and if he didn’t know her any better, he might’ve thought she was just fucking him off to spend alone-time with Micah. He’s spotted Baz now though, so he can still make a night of it, can punch him or maybe get him to confess something. He stumbles over to him. “Baz,” he slurs and Baz has only time to arch that one bloody eyebrow of his, when Simon is stepping into Baz’s space, sliding his arms around Baz’s neck.

“What the fuck, Snow,” Baz jerks back, his face incredulous. But Simon’s got his arms around him and Simon has just had a brilliant idea – _inspired_ , truly – and Baz can’t escape now.

“Hey, Baz, Baz, listen”, he shushes him, bringing one finger up to press against Baz’s lips. He leans back slightly and squints up at Baz. “I _know_ , okay? _I know_ and I wanna help. _”_

“Snow, get off me, you’re a lunatic.” Baz snarls and attempts to shake him off.

“Listen, I’m sorry I asked the way I asked – but, but I know you fancy Noah, yeah? I _know_.”

“Crowley, not this again,” Baz rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, Snow, get off me.”

“The _problem_ , Baz, is that Noah doesn’t think you fancy him. At all. He told me himself. He said he was sure you didn’t.”

“I’m sure he did,” Baz sneers.

“So I have – a great plan,” Simon mumbles, bringing his face closer to Baz’s. “You need – to make him jealous, yeah? So he thinks, so he _knows_ , you fancy him.”

Baz presses a hand to Simon’s chest and shoves him. “Snow, I didn’t think it was possible, but congratulations, you’re even thicker when you’re drunk.”

Simon scowls and steps back up to Baz. “Come off it, Baz. I know you fancy him. And I’m going to help you make him realise he fancies you too, yeah?”

Baz gapes at him incredulously. “Do you hear yourself, Snow? Have you entirely lost it?”

“Just so – just so, you back off Agatha, yeah? I’ll help you.”

“I don’t want your precious Wellbelove,” Baz sneers.

“He’s a decent bloke, Baz, it’s all good.”

“Oh, well, as long as he’s a decent bloke!” Baz snaps, missing ‘sarcastic _’_ by a fair bit and landing somewhere near ‘hysterical’.

“I’ve – I’ve thought about it, and you’d look good together… Two of the prettiest people at school... You look … good, Baz,” Simon sways slightly and Baz, unthinkingly, brings his arms up to stabilise him.

“Snow, stop—”

“I’m gonna help you, Baz – just to, just to make him jealous, yeah?” Simon’s leaning up on his toes, his breath fanning across Baz’s aghast face. He reaches up and pinches, softly, the skin of Baz’s earlobe between his thumb and index finger. “Don’t hit me,” he whispers.

Before Baz can throw him off, or throw a punch, Simon is cupping his hands around Baz’s face, closing the distance between them, and pressing his lips to Baz’s. Baz is frozen still, and Simon works his lips harder to try and get him to respond.

“Come on, Baz,” he whispers, pulling away slightly. “Work with me,” he mumbles against his lips. Simon pulls Baz’s arms tighter around him, pressing the length of his body to Baz’s. “You should – you should grab my waist.”

Baz’s eyes are round and wild, but he still won’t move, the stubborn bastard. Simon slips his eyes shut and experimentally nips at Baz’s bottom lip, tries to goad him, “I know you can do better than this, Baz. We’re _fighting_ , come on.” He presses his lips to him again. “You really gonna let me win?” Simon pushes his tongue against Baz’s lips and then, suddenly, he doesn’t have to try anymore.

Baz makes an angry noise, lets his mouth fall open, and then it’s Baz kissing Simon _,_ not the other way around _._ Simon grunts in victorious gratification and pushes his hand up into Baz’s hair, fisting around the impossible softness of it. (He knew it’d be soft.)

This is good. Familiar. He already knows the feel of Baz’s body; from years of the skin giving way under his knuckles, the cartilage snapping under his fists. He knows where to hit to evoke the most hurt. (He can learn where to touch to evoke the least hurt.) This is familiar territory.

This isn’t like Agatha kisses. Baz kisses like the earth might stop spinning if they were to stop. Like Baz is furious that the earth might stop spinning if they were to stop. Simon angles his head slightly and tries to regain control of the kiss, bites at Baz’s lips again. (It’s okay if Baz is the one to bleed, right?) (The Turning can’t happen this way, surely?) This is good. The plan is working.

The plan. Right.

Simon pulls his mouth away, pants into Baz’s neck. Experimentally presses his lips there. “Is it working?” He sucks a spot onto Baz’s neck.

“What?” Baz gasps, his pupils blown wide. Dark satisfaction wells inside Simon’s stomach at the sight of it; Baz - ruffled, unravelled - and the knowledge that he’s caused it.

“Is it working?” Simon whispers. “Is he looking? Noah?”

“Is he--?” Baz pulls back and stares at him, looking pale and still and not at all co-conspirator-esque.

“Noah – yeah, is he?” Simon goes to kiss Baz again, but Baz makes a strangled noise and shoves him away, hard. Simon stumbles and lands on his bottom on the floor, staring up at Baz in bewilderment. “What the—".

Baz takes a step forward until he’s looming over Simon, his face contorted in rage, looking every bit the vampire Simon knows him to be. “Don’t ever,” Baz hisses and his voice is venom, “touch me again.” With that, Baz turns around and walks off, leaving Simon confused, and nursing a bruised bottom and a bruised pride.

* * *

Baz doesn’t come back to their room that night.

Weary and humiliated, Simon manages to stumble his way back to Mummers House. He feels a lot more sober all of a sudden, his mind clearing, and an acute sense of horror - and shame - setting in instead. He just kissed Baz. He just _kissed Baz._ And Baz let him, even returned the kiss, until suddenly he realised it was Simon Snow and that he didn’t want him.

Simon supposes he has one of his answers now in any case. Anyone who can kiss like that, a boy who can kiss a boy like that – surely, that boy has to like boys, at least a little? And maybe Simon doesn’t fit the description of the type of boy Baz could like, but Baz likes boys. Simon presses his fingers to his mouth, feels the ghost of another pair of lips pushing against it. Baz likes boys - but he still hates Simon.

And that’s fine, Simon tells himself as he stares at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. That was the entire plan after all. Really, he should be elated – he finally has proof. His kiss-swollen lips are proof. His dishevelled hair is proof (from when Baz scraped his long fingers through it). His crinkled school shirt is proof (from when Baz bunched his hands at Simon’s sides).

Noah is proof.

Simon lies in the dark and stares up at his ceiling for what feels like hours. He wills his eyes to stay open, he wants to be awake when Baz comes back. They should probably talk about what happened. (Simon never, ever wants to talk about what happened.) He pulls the sheets up to his chin.

He doesn’t want to be awake when Baz comes back.

* * *

Simon wakes to the sound of Baz digging through his wardrobe. There’s a moment of blissful oblivion before the events of last night, as well as a pounding headache, come slamming into him all at once. Simon shoots up in bed, wincing at the pain that shoots through this head.

Baz is still wearing his school clothes from yesterday, so Simon knows he really didn’t come back all night. Simon watches Baz’s back warily, holds his breath, expecting at any moment to be ruthlessly ripped to shreds.

Baz doesn’t so much as look at him.

He gathers his things and, without as much as a contemptuous glance for Simon, strides into the bathroom and shuts it behind him.

Simon exhales. He swings his feet over his bed, stares at Baz’s unslept bed. He groans and pushes the heel of his palm to his temple. Gingerly, he gets out of bed and walks around the room, weirdly afraid to touch anything, feeling on the precipice of something large and terrifying. Like fighting the chimera - only much worse.

When Baz comes out of the bathroom, his hair is wet from the shower, and he’s wearing a new set of school clothes. Ignoring Simon, he walks across to their body-length mirror and starts looping his school-tie around his neck. He can’t just _ignore_ Simon forever?

Simon takes a cautious step towards him. “Baz.”

Baz pretends not to hear him – the git – and Simon scowls. Takes another step towards him, “ _Baz_ ,” he says, more insistently this time. When Baz ignores him again, Simon (being the absolute blockhead that he is) reaches out to grab his shoulder. Baz whirls around at that, throwing Simon’s hand off of him, his eyes blazing in ferocious anger. “ _Don’t_ ,” he snarls behind gritted teeth.

“Baz—,” Simon begins (without much clue on how to follow up on that one word), and then his eyes suddenly catch on Baz’s neck. An angry, red bruise is blossoming on the place where Baz’s neck meets his left shoulder. The place where Simon’s mouth had been, some six hours ago.

Simon flushes and looks up guiltily to meet Baz’s gaze. Baz yanks his collar forward sharply, the school shirt hiding the mark from sight. He looks at Simon scathingly, his glare a silent warning, and then he reaches for his bag and storms out of the room.

* * *

Baz doesn’t come back to their room that night either. Or the one after. Or after. Simon knows he’s avoiding him; it’s not like Baz to skip classes. Over the next week, Simon sees him only a handful of times, in the mornings when absolute necessity forces Baz back to their room. (He never looks at Simon.) Once (because Simon is waiting outside), he sees him slipping into the catacombs. That must be where he’s spending his nights. He looks haggard and thin and _angry_. It’s like 5th year all over again and despite trying not to be, Simon is hurt. Is Simon really so repulsive, is being kissed by him really so awful that Baz would rather spend the night in the catacombs than be in the same room as him?

He's not proud of it, but on two nights, Simon also (discreetly) hangs around the exchange students’ quarters. Wondering if he’s about to catch a glimpse of Baz, sitting with Noah, complaining about his horrible, deranged roommate who goes around kissing people against their will. He doesn’t see Baz, but he does run into Noah one night. Noah smiles and waves at Simon, but makes no attempt to approach him.

When Baz does return to classes, he pointedly sits as far away from Simon as he can. Simon glowers at Baz the entire time Miss Possibelf talks them through _The Wicked War_ of 1868. Penny glowers at Simon and scrunches her nose up at the smoke rolling off of him. As soon as the bell tolls to signal the end of class, Baz is gone.

Simon grows restless. He doesn’t want to play these hollow re-runs of their cat and mouse game from 5th year. He wants Baz to stop being an arse. Penny asks him, repeatedly, what the matter is, why he keeps leaking magic all over the place. He brushes her concerns away hastily. He’s not one to hold back from whining at Penny about Baz, but he can’t even begin to think how he would explain to her why Baz has suddenly decided to reprise the role of his fifteen-year-old self. _(“So, I might’ve accidentally gotten too drunk and shoved my tongue down Baz’s throat – as an experiment of sorts – and now Baz is pretending I am a figment of the Mage’s imagination. Any ideas? AITA?”)_

When Simon finally gets to confront Baz, it’s in their room. It’s late and Simon is still up, trying in a last-ditch effort to complete his essay for Professor Hibiscull. His performance in class has been suffering (more than usual) recently, and he’s promised Penny he’ll make an honest attempt at this submission. His mind keeps wandering though, to bruises and catacombs, and he slams his quill down against the desk in frustration. He’s grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes when he hears it. The sound of the bedroom door clicking softly open.

Simon snaps his head up and meets Baz’s startled gaze. He shoots to his feet. He can tell Baz hadn’t expected him to be awake, and Simon narrows his eyes suspiciously, wondering how many times Baz has come back to their room late in the night. For a moment, Baz looks like he might turn around and leave again, but then he sets his jaw and shuts the door behind him, beelining for his wardrobe.

“ _Baz,”_ Simon says, and it sounds like an accusation.

Baz ignores him. Irritated, Simon steps forward, blocking his way to the wardrobe. “Stop avoiding me, Baz.”

Baz blinks his eyes shut as if calling onto his reserves for patience. “Get out of my way, Snow, or so help me.” He shakes his head once and it is very clearly a warning.

“Have you been in the catacombs again?” Simon persists. It occurs to him then that he’s only assumed that Baz has been spending his nights in the catacombs. What if he’s been somewhere else? Are Dev and Niall letting him sleep over? Does Baz know of some secret, dodgy room in the main castle where he creepily lies in the dark all night?

Has he been staying at the exchange students’ quarters?

Simon juts his chin out, defiant. “Have you been staying with Noah?”

Baz snorts, shakes his head in disbelief. “Why don’t you ask Noah _?”_ he sneers.

“Fuck Noah,” Simon glowers.

Baz raises his eyebrows and curls his mouth into a horrible smile. “A bit gauche, Snow. Even for you.”

Simon colours at the implication, the absurdity of it. “That’s not – you know that’s not what I meant—.”

“Don’t I?” Baz levels a cool gaze at him.

“I do,” Simon squares his shoulders and takes a step towards him. “I know,” he swallows. “About you.”

Baz sighs. “About my unbridled passion for Holden, yes, Snow, thank you.” He stares at Simon impassively. “You caught me,” he deadpans.

Simon steps closer to Baz. “No,” he says, reaches out as if he means to press his hand to Baz’s heart. His fingers hover there, afraid to touch. He looks Baz squarely in the eyes. “I know you’re gay,” he says quietly.

A muscle jumps in Baz’s jaw. His eyes on Simon are calculating, like prey watching its predator and weighing its odds of survival.

“Baz, it’s okay—.”

“Oh, it’s okay, is it?” Baz’s voice is low, dangerous. “Thanks, Snow, for letting it be _okay_.”

“No, Baz, I didn’t mean—.”

“I’m sorry, did you want a prize? Shall we all celebrate that your brain isn’t completely a barren wasteland?”

His words are cruel but there’s no real bite to them. Baz’s mouth is pulled tight in a derisive scowl, but his eyes are wide and his hands are trembling the tiniest bit. Simon’s heart is thumping wildly in his chest. He needs, more than anything, for Baz to understand that this, Baz liking blokes, is the _least_ bad thing to exist in the world. That he can trust Simon with this – with all of it.

“ _Baz,”_ Simon says again, and it sounds like a confession.

Before he can think about what he’s doing, Simon is surging forward, squeezing his eyes shut as his lips find Baz’s. It isn’t a long kiss. Simon’s mouth hasn’t been on Baz’s for more than a second when Simon jerks away, horrified. _Not again._

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, scrambles backward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—.”

Baz is looking at him in wide-eyed astonishment, his fingers at his mouth. Simon backs away from him, his eyes round in panic. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—.”

Baz drops his hand and takes a step towards him. “So why did you?” he asks evenly.

“I don’t know!” Simon exclaims, tugs his hair away from his face. “I don’t know! I wanted to! I don’t know, I’m _sorry!”_

“You _wanted_ to?” Baz gapes at him. “Since _when?”_

“Since last week! Since 5th year!” Simon throws his hands up in frustration. “Since _forever,_ I don’t _know_!” His pulse is pounding in his ears and he can’t _think straight_. He draws in a shuddering breath. He doesn’t know much of anything, but he knows this much: he wants this. Whatever this is.

“Okay,” Baz says.

Simon jerks his head up, realising he’s said that last part out loud. “ _Okay?”_ he echoes, his eyes frantic.

“Okay,” Baz says again, steps forward, and closes the distance between them. Baz reaches out and takes Simon’s face in his hands, his hands shaking ever so slightly. “You can have this, Simon. Whatever this is.” And then _Baz_ kisses _Simon._


End file.
